Once it's broken, the maidenhead,
It cannot again be ever mended,
When in the light wall of a peach--
In that fine part--there is a breach.
or who knoweth how to stitch *****
Together like words with an hyphen?

See me? My little nose,
My brown hair,
See me there, my pale skin,
Like porcelain
Speckled with kisses from the sun,
See me there my gray blue eyes,
Shining like the summer sky.
See me there is that me,
That smiling face,
Existing twice in time and space,
is that me?
That face to used to be safe…
Is that me? Am I that face,
Repeated too often,
To clear to mistake
So you think that’s me?
My heart is breaking,                                  ~~~      ~~~          ­                                  
Behind my face....                                         (o)  |   (o)    Behind my face no one sees me.  
my voice is  S     A       I        G    .....               :   ^    .      Behind my face I cannot be me.                    
                        H     K      N                              :   =           From my face I pray you free me.

Whilst in bed, thou knowest not at
All what about thee is transacting more
In life, for thou altogether therein art
Oblivious even to thine own existence core.

And all thy earthly goods thou wilt
Never remember--not even a pin in your
Possessions--as you shut eye on thy quilt
Or on thy sack, dreaming with a snore.

Thy soul, in sleep, is at ease from angst--
Worrying nay itself over the Dow Jones swinging.
Thou art in a subconscious mode and canst
Tell nought of what in the world's happening.

Save for stertorous breathing--the
Sign of life, sleep is simply as death!
And in both man is hapless verily,
Whether he lieth in bed or in a casket.

This thy affection erratic
Make constant and stable,
Willowy winsome chick;
Or thy love from my cable
You should now altogether,
Once and for all, sever.

i
                                  move                          ­       because i am bursting with joy and song.
               with
                                   my                                     breath leads me to the seat of my heart
              whole                                        ­    
                          
                          b
                          e
        ­                  i
                          n
                 ­         g        
                            
                                    f
                          ­          r
                                    e
               ­                     e
                                          ­  
                                               to
                                                        two-st­ep
                                                              ­            out of
                                          
                                          h
                                          e
                                          r
                                          e

i've been lost                             for so long
that it feels wrong                    to be home.
being at peace                           and to belong
seems abnormal,                      which seems insane.

i am finally home,                    a place  that i can be me
where i  am free                        and learn to grow.

home is                                      where my heart goes
my heart                                    always with me.

l     a  
o    b
v    i
e    d
      e
      s

of the tongue
               and body
           as it beats
              the demons
                 of my own silence to a gentle hum –
  a drunk laced
   representation
    of what the watching eyes
                                        desire,
            ­                            crave,
                              ­          emulate
                                          in their sacred spaces –
      center stage
     with every performer
         abroad this conditioned
               disillusion –
     how it masks
      all the confusion
       for those that
         jumped in early –
   the lights
    look so friendly
   when you need them,
      but it's you
        who feeds
            them –
          and you die
    without knowing it,
                 you cry
    without showing it –
    mourn, in distractions,
      what could have been;
      what could have been
          if you didn't have
             to keep on
                       searching –

    the pen marks
   rely on the same security,
       lost in its
        contrived purity –

           the light is blinding,
            but it keeps us from
  rewinding,
  reminding
    our hearts of the pain
    or the game,
all the same –

wanting too much
for no good reason -

Left**                                                           ­                                                    Right
The­ shadowy outline of my closet is                                               A window
Too dark to see. I imagine                                         The lights and people and
The closet door out of place                                                 endless­ thoughts.
And Shirts that I don’t have,                                            I lie awake thinking,
                                          (Tonight in/of the imaginary closet)

Plain brain game,
      droopy eyes,
        shaking thighs -

    Why am I back here, again?

      Great laughs -
             ha, ha,
                ha -
          peeing cycles increasing
            to release
            the awkward current
               forming armies
               of goose bumps
           around my thoughts -

     My Friday night
        has just begun -
              but it feels
                like last week's ****;

       Same tickling fear
          tied in a knot,
      as I seal my
                       heart
       with more dishonesty;
        
these distracted strangers
     don't know any better,
                             any better than me, anyway -

      "Love is just a state of mind,
          the heart knows better,"

                             hmph -

     intuition feeling
          a tad under the weather -

       Not good enough,
          I should've known better..